


Lucky Number Seven

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Archive, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fluff, M/M, jon is elias' divorce lawyer, martin calls elias and peter both dad bc neither of them seem like a nickname type of guy, martin is the intermediary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: Based on molyglock's tumblr post (with permission) (https://sidras-tak.tumblr.com/post/189951302177). Martin is Elias and Peter's adopted son, and he gets the fun job of being the intermediary between his dads and the divorce lawyer.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 107
Kudos: 1713





	Lucky Number Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Again, the post this fic is based on can be found here: https://sidras-tak.tumblr.com/post/189951302177. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

Martin’s dads were getting divorced again. 

Maybe “dads” was too strong a word for what they were to him. Elias had adopted him seemingly to spite Peter while Peter was away on a long holiday. Peter was the most introverted person Martin had ever met, and so coming back from four months of complete isolation to find a wide-eyed nine-year-old in his house was not the best surprise Elias had ever gotten him. The first divorce (the first witnessed by Martin, at least, and where he started keeping track) came soon after. The first wedding was six months after that.

That was two decades ago, and by now the routine was old hat. Martin had graduated from ring bearer to best man for his fathers’ weddings as the years went on, and he indulged his two odd fathers without complaint, and not only because they each separately gave him a hefty enough allowance to afford any London flat of his choice. He’d opted to stay at home with Elias (and Peter, when he deigned to be around), but he was accumulating a comfortable balance in his bank account, for the inevitable moment when he felt brave enough to strike out on his own.

It wasn’t like Peter and Elias were bad to him. They were good if unconventional, parents. He had everything he needed, and neither of them as much as raised their voices to him. But Peter shipped him off to boarding school as soon as Martin was able to pass the entrance exams, and Elias’ idea of good family bonding time during holidays was plopping Martin down in a dusty library corner and saying, “Quiet now, Papa has to work”. Still, it was better than being an unwanted visitor in some distant relation’s house. So even a hurt and lonely little boy like Martin was able to find some growing affection for the two strange men who had commandeered his existence as a pawn in the most elaborate personal game in the world. That affection grew exasperated as Martin grew, but it never diminished.

Part of being a pawn for his dads meant he had to play along when he was told to, so that was how he found himself walking up the imposing marble steps of the most expensive law firm Elias could find, dressed in a freshly-tailored and highly uncomfortable suit.

The receptionist told him to take a seat outside Mr. Sims’ office, as he was just finishing up a call with another client. Martin thanked her, nervously, and declined her offer of tea or coffee, also nervously. He’d really been expecting to see Ms. Robinson today, but the receptionist told him that unfortunately, Ms. Robinson had passed in the time between this divorce and the last. 

The office door opened, interrupting his train of thought. He stood up quickly, scrubbing his sweaty hands down his trouser sides. The man—Elias’ new divorce lawyer—stood in the doorway, frowning at Martin as if he’d personally offended him.

“Mister…..Bouchard?” The man asked. Martin flushed.

“Ah, no. I’m Martin. Uh, Blackwood. You can call me…Martin.” 

He stuck out his hand. The man shook it suspiciously.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this appointment is scheduled for Mr. Bouchard.”

“Right, right. Dad said he had better things to do, so you’re stuck with me, I suppose.” He tried at a laugh that did not go anywhere. Mr. Sims raised an eyebrow.

“You’re Mr. Bouchard’s son?”

“Adopted,” Martin admitted cheerfully. “I’m Peter’s too, when he’s around.”

“Ah.” As if remembering himself, Mr. Sims held open the door and Martin let himself be ushered inside. He took a seat at the neat leather chair Mr. Sims gestured at.

“Forgive me. I was just expecting to see Mr. Bouchard,” Mr. Sims said, sitting down opposite Martin.

“And I was expecting Ms. Robinson,” Martin said, accidentally. He pressed his lips together, hoping her passing wasn’t a sore subject with Mr. Sims. He just looked distracted, however, paging through a thick file with just a small affirmative sound, so Martin relaxed a bit. He pulled at his tie, loosening it just a bit, and found it much easier to breathe, so he did it again.

Mr. Sims spoke suddenly. “I have to ask you—and I apologize because this is not a professional question—but…do you live with your fathers?”

“Yes,” Martin replied, startled into honesty. Being a man of almost thirty, he usually lied about that particular detail of his life.

“And is it a safe place?”

“What do you mean?”

A small furrow appeared between Mr. Sims’ eyebrows. “Again, forgive me. It’s just that the notes my predecessor—Gertrude—left me, it seems that Misters Bouchard and Lukas have a….shall we say, ‘volatile’ marriage. Divorced and remarried four times in the past twenty years?”

“Six,” Martin said automatically. “They were both a bit put off their marriage in Morocco was not legally binding, which led to the fifth divorce and then another wedding in Japan. That one was also not legally binding. This will be lucky number seven.”

Mr. Sims’ eyebrows—clearly the most expressive part of him—got even more incredulous. Martin hurried on, “but, to answer your question, I’m perfectly fine. I’m not in danger, physically, or, or emotionally, or anything. This is just a game to them. They’re both obscenely rich. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on petty arguments is like foreplay. Elias already has another engagement ring. Peter picked it out last week.”

He took a deep breath and redirected it to make himself shut up. Mr. Sims gave a grimace that Martin instinctively knew he thought was a polite smile. They both sat in silence for another moment.

“Mr. Sims,” Martin hedged. “Do you think we could get started?”

Mr. Sims started, obviously pulled out of deep thought. “Jon,” he said. “You may call me Jon. Or Jonathan, if you prefer. And yes, we may.”

“Okay, Jon. What do you need to know from me?”

“I suppose….we’ll have to draw up a contract. Elias’ terms and conditions. Review the prenup, settle claims. Decide our alimony strategy. Set up a meeting with Mr. Lukas’ lawyer. Lots to do….”

Martin nodded. He pulled out a three-ring binder stuffed with papers. 

“Here are my notes from the previous divorces. I can save you some time here. They never want the same stuff they got before. Last time, Peter got the house, so now Elias wants it and Peter will want nothing to do with it. They’ve both claimed the car before, so now Elias will demand Peter buy him a new one, or Peter will do the same. They’ll probably end up buying each other new cars, but don’t expect that to be a pretty settlement, they’ll fight tooth and nail for it. Peter will want back all the jewelry he bought Elias, wedding rings included, but I don’t think Elias will fight him too hard on that—what with the new ring already picked out. He’ll pretend to put up a fight, of course, that’s part of the game. But he doesn’t really want them.”

“Is there something they agree on? Something they won’t fight about?” Jon asked, looking slightly overwhelmed.

“Visitation rights. I’m an adult now but that won’t stop them from using me as divorce fodder. In a good way,” he added when Jon’s expression turned stormy.

“Well. I suppose we had better get to work.”

—

Because of the long, sordid history of Elias and Peter’s increasingly complex demands, Jon spent considerably more time on the Bouchard case than he’d expected. Which meant he spent considerably more time with Martin Blackwood than he’d expected. It was…more enjoyable than most of Jon’s job tended to be. Martin was polite, clever, and had a dry wit that Jon didn’t expect. He was more than knowledgeable about his fathers’ affairs, which saved Jon a lot of research time. He’d had the pleasure of meeting Elias Bouchard exactly one time when he was Gertrude’s assistant. That had been his fourth divorce. Martin had not made an appearance at any of the divorce proceedings back then.

(“University,” Martin had explained when Jon asked why he’d been absent. 

“What did you study?” Jon asked. 

“Psychology. I’m still attending, actually. Well, not right now, obviously, or I’d be in classes. I’m…I took a gap year for personal reasons.” Haltingly, he added, “My mum. My birth mum, she, uh, passed away. Recently.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said on instinct. Then, deliberately, he put a hand on Martin’s and said, “I lost my parents when I was young. I won’t say I understand, but…”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Martin said, and they both pretended to ignore the sheen of tears cropping up in his eyes. 

“So, about the vacation house by the ocean,” Jon said, redirecting. Martin brightened. 

“That’s actually going to me, I think. Elias won’t touch it since Peter bought up the surrounding houses and had them knocked down. He thinks it’s too desolate. And Peter’s bored of it, now that Elias won’t set foot inside.”

Jon made a note of it, throwing out some nicety about how it was in a prime location. As Martin was leaving, he asked if Jon would like to come visit the vacation house sometime, “after all this is finished and I’m not employing you anymore, obviously”. Jon surprised himself by answering, “that sounds nice, Martin. Thank you.”)

Often, Jon would find himself ordering lunch to the office. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself (“workaholic” the Georgie who lived in his brain affectionately reminded him), but Martin ordered his own lunch in just as often. Jon hadn’t had lunch during work hours with anyone else in years. When Jon pointed out that Martin probably had better things to do with his time, Martin cheerfully said that it was either Jon or his dads, since he didn’t exactly have school work to worry about. “And I have my dads all the time. I don’t always have you,” he added, then blushed. Jon hid a smile. He liked it when Martin blushed. His mouth always seemed to work a few seconds faster than his mind, and what came out was nearly always sweet and honest and just a touch embarrassing. Embarrassing for Martin, Jon mentally corrected. The squirming in his stomach at Martin’s blushes were the furthest thing from uncomfortable he could think of.

Despite the longer hours Jon was putting into work, he wasn’t getting any more productive. But for once in his life, he did not care. This one case, he reasoned, did not need to be resolved quickly. Mr. Bouchard and Mr. Lukas seemed to enjoy long, complex divorce settlements anyway. So when Martin suggested he could take Jon on a tour of the Bouchard-Lukas-Blackwood home so Jon could get a better idea of the house’s assets, Jon didn’t hesitate before grabbing his jacket.

“Right now?” Martin asked, surprised.

“Oh,” Jon said uncertainly, jacket still hanging from his hand. “Sorry.”

“No, no!” Martin said. He waved his hands around in the way he did when he was flustered. “I don’t mind. I just didn’t think you’d be terribly keen on the idea. You…don’t seem like the type to take many breaks.”

Jon scoffed lightly and pulled the jacket on. “Usually, that’s the case. But it would be nice to get out of the office.” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to add, “with you,” but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Martin blinked at him in surprise with a long enough pause that Jon was considering apologizing, but then a bright smile broke over Martin’s face and he said, “well, I can’t argue with that.”

Once they were on the sidewalk outside the law firm, Martin took Jon’s hand.

—

Neither one of them mentioned the hand-holding incident in the following weeks, but, as it kept happening, they really didn’t need to. Martin spent nearly all day, every day at Jon’s office. And maybe they were dragging out the whole business further than it needed to be, but really, who could blame him? If Martin’s personality wasn’t enough to drive off potential boyfriends, his dramatic and occasionally intimidating fathers did the trick. But Jon wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated. He laughed at Martin’s terrible jokes, so he must find Martin at least tolerable.

And then there was the whole business with the sleepover. The one that might have been pulled from a bad rom-com, where Jon and Martin stayed in Jon’s office long past closing, and it was cold and rainy and Jon’s flat was a convenient few blocks away and he just happened to have a pullout couch, if Martin was interested in that? And Martin said yes, he was, only if Jon was sure he wouldn’t be intruding. And Jon said, don’t be silly, Martin, you’re always welcome, and besides, it gets pretty lonely with just himself and the cat. And Martin said, oh my god you have a cat? And Jon said, shared custody with his ex, Georgie, and the Admiral was his this weekend. And so Martin got to cuddle with a cat and watch Jon make instant ramen with homemade soft-boiled eggs and then he got to eat it across the table from a friend who was rapidly becoming something more important, then watch some dumb comedy until it was late enough to sleep and by then….well, by then, Jon had tucked himself under Martin’s arm, claiming reasons of a chill in the air. And Martin could hardly breathe from how beautiful it felt to have Jon’s breath gusting out against his neck and feel the rise and fall of his chest. And Jon just sighed and cuddled closer when Martin curled his arm around Jon’s chest, coming to rest over his heart. And when Martin laid himself down on the couch with Jon draped across him like a breathing blanket, neither of them even tried to make excuses about Jon having a perfectly good bed a few paces away. And then they fell asleep.

—

Jon woke up first, while it was still dark. He could barely make out Martin’s face in the shadows cast from the room. Despite the dark, he didn’t have to work too hard to make out the small birthmark on his cheek, or the rounded edge of his nose. It surprised him, how many details of Martin’s face he knew on instinct. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d spent memorizing it. With that revelation in mind, he tucked his face into Martin’s neck and dozed off. He woke for the second time when the light filtering in from the window, softly illuminating the room.

“Hello,” Martin said, a low word that rumbled through both their bodies, reminding Jon of how close together they were pressed. Distantly, Jon noted that he really should sit up, move away, put distance between them and laugh about falling asleep on the couch. Instead, what he said was, “I wish you’d kiss me.”

Martin sat bolt upright, nearly dumping Jon on the floor. “What was that?” he asked. 

Jon scooted to the other side of the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest. Grimly, he doubled down, trying his best to ignore how bright red his face felt. Honesty. That’s what Georgie said he needed to work on. Transparency. Asking for what he wanted instead of making someone else guess. “I don’t get feelings for people very often, and so I’m not good at knowing what to do or say. But I wanted you to kiss me. So I said it.”

“Oh,” Martin said. Slowly, he crawled across the couch. One hand brushed against Jon’s jaw, and he shivered. The hand slid up to cradle his cheek. It consumed the whole side of Jon’s face, chin to temple, warm and heavy.

“Your hand is so big,” Jon marveled. Martin pulled his hand away slightly, blushing.

“I—I’m not the smallest guy.”

“I like it,” Jon said, pushing his face into Martin’s hand again. “So will you?”

“Will I?”

“Kiss me.”

“On one condition. I assume you know all about conditions, Mr. Lawyer?”

“I do,” Jon said, torn between enjoying their equally clumsy attempts at flirting and just wishing Martin would do something about the two inches separating their mouths. “What stipulations do you have?”

“Go out with me. On a proper dinner date, not just lunch over paperwork. Let me hold the door for you and pay for your meal.”

Jon pushed his chin forward and kissed Martin. “Deal.”

After a second, more exploratory kiss, Jon said, “The condition was set, one kiss for one date. I’ve kissed you twice. Does that mean two dates?”

“Hmm, you’re a tough negotiator. I’ll allow it. One date per kiss,” Martin said seriously, then laughed as Jon surged forward and peppered kisses against Martin’s face.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Martin said breathlessly, between giggles.

“I’ve never felt like this,” Jon countered. He knocked his nose against Martin’s. “You’re not going to fire me for inappropriate conduct with a client, are you?”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Martin said.

“Good,” Jon said, and kissed him once more, like a period at the end of a sentence, like a signature on a contract, like a promise.

—

Elias and Peter’s seventh divorce finally went through eight months later. It had taken much longer than previous divorce proceedings had taken, but Elias had chalked that up to Gertrude’s replacement being new and thus incompetent. He’d come with Martin to the firm to pick up the final paperwork, but, not really needing to meet his new lawyer on the last day of the job, sent Martin in to collect it himself.

Ten minutes later, Martin emerged from the lawyer’s office, trembling and flushed, clutching a file folder in his hands. Elias frowned and tugged it from his son’s shell-shocked grasp. He flipped it open, glanced inside, and snapped it closed again.

“Go back in there and tell him he gave you the wrong file. This is a marriage license.”

“He didn’t give me the wrong file,” Martin said slowly.

“What do you mean? I’m not going to marry Peter for at least another year. This is premature.”

“For you, maybe,” Martin said. He held up his left hand, adorned with a modest gold ring. “Jon proposed. And you can’t say a thing about it because you just admitted that you’re planning on remarrying the man you haven’t even divorced yet.”

Elias folded his arms. “That’s all well and good for you, but I’m quite impatient to get divorced. Where is my paperwork?”

Martin opened the door to the office. Jon slipped out, wrapping an arm around Martin’s waist. “How did it go?”

“He’s more concerned with signing his divorce papers.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but his professional instincts kicked in sharp enough that he let go of Martin’s waist and shuffled through his papers. He handed a small bundle of them to Elias and said, “I trust you can find your way around these yourself.”

“I believe I can,” Elias said coldly. He glanced between Martin and Jon. “For both your sakes, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Jon leaned against Martin’s front, and Martin’s chin rested on the crown of Jon’s head, his arms wrapped around Jon’s torso.

Martin said, “Well, Dad, we can’t do any worse than you and dad. In fact, I think we can do a lot better.”

“Sir,” Jon added, nodding. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a wedding to catch.”

Elias watched them go. Once they were out of sight, he flipped open his phone and hit speed dial.

“Calling to gloat about how you’re newly single?” Peter’s voice asked from the other end of the line. Elias smiled, taking a seat at Jon’s desk, putting his feet up.

“No, no. Just here to tell you that your son eloped with my divorce attorney.”

“He’s your son,” Peter said mildly. “It’ll be a pain to find a new one.”

“But so much fun,” Elias countered. He paused. “Do you remember when we did that?”

Peter scoffed. “What, eloped? If memory serves, it was less ‘eloping’ than you tricking me into signing a marriage certificate by telling me it was a lease for that house we both wanted.”

“Ah, yes. Reflecting on that, I do believe they’ll do better than we ever did.”

“But will they have as much fun?”

Elias surveyed the small photo album’s worth of framed pictures sitting on Jon's desk. A candid shot of Martin dancing in a club, framed by neon lights. Jon and Martin walking hand-in-hand, shot from behind. The two of them cuddled up with a cat sitting between them. Martin laughing helplessly as a cow in a field was in the midst of eating his woolen hat. An engagement ring, held up behind Martin’s back in the streets of London.

Finally, Elias chuckled softly, shook his head, and said, “They just might.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sidras-tak on tumblr and KitS #4004 on discord. Don't be shy, come chat!


End file.
